


The Same Rain

by JustAnotherOutcast



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: S5 spoilers, focus on mordred, kinda grim, merlin is kind of a dickweed in this, s5 merlin was a Problem, this is meant to make u feel bad for mordred lol, when i say kind of i mean he is completely, with features of other bois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 08:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherOutcast/pseuds/JustAnotherOutcast
Summary: It's way too hot for Mordred to pretend he isn't bothered by Merlin's attitude.





	The Same Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings: Suffocation/Smothering

It was hot. The air was thick and muggy, and no one dared stay out in the afternoon sun for longer than they had to. It had been this way for a good week, and everyone was struggling to find reprieve from the heat.

The farmers said it was a heatwave, said it was almost over. Old man Fillemore said he could feel the rain coming in his joints. Well, no offense to Fillemore's joints, but that prediction seemed very unlikely.

Mordred squinted, glancing up at the blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. A huff escaped him as he dropped his gaze back to the training grounds of Camelot, watching Leon and Gwaine half-heartedly practice their swordplay. Really, they were just talking, swords in hand and swinging occasionally. It was too hot for a proper fight. Or even proper attire, it seemed. Leon had not a scrap of armor on him, and Gwaine was missing his shirt entirely. Maybe a bit of an escape from the sweltering heat, but Mordred dreaded to think what kind of sunburn Gwaine would have by the end of the day.

The two finished after a short time, striding over towards Mordred with a wave of greeting. Gwaine dove towards the bucket of water that a servant had brought to the field for when they were done, while Leon approached Mordred.

"Skipping out on training?"

Mordred's eyes widened. "No! I was just, uh, I was--”

Leon laughed, cutting the younger off. "I'm joking. Gaius has been dealing with too many heat strokes this week anyway. It's better training stays to a minimum until it cools off."

Mordred nodded a little jerkily.

"Princess is a little grumpy about that," Gwaine commented when he had stopped chugging the water. "Personally, I think he can suck it up for a couple days."

"Hope it's not too long," Mordred commented. "We don't want the crops to dry up in the heat."

Leon nodded knowingly. And Gwaine, ever distracted, flung his arm into the air.

"Hey, Merlin!" he shouted, loud enough to make Mordred's ears ring.

He and Leon turned to where Merlin was skirting the edge of the field, a basket of laundry in hand. His only acknowledgment if Gwaine was to turn his head towards the noise, not even breaking stride. Had he and Mordred not made eye contact, Merlin probably would have waved back.

"He's a bit grumpy," came Gwaine's comment as he used his discarded shirt to wipe sweat off his brow.

"Maybe it's the heat." Mordred didn't believe his own suggestion.

"He should cool off a bit. Take a dip in the lake." Gwaine suddenly seemed way too excited by his own idea. "We shou--"

"No," quipped Leon before he could even get started. "We've got a council meeting in less than an hour."

Gwaine groaned, visibly deflating. "If I have to do one more responsible thing in this heat, I am going to melt."

Clapping Gwaine on the back, Leon smiled. "Come on, friend. Let's get ready."

Gwaine whined, pulling his sullied shirt back on.

"I'll catch up with you," Mordred blurted out, not really having thought about it yet. "I'm going to check on Merlin."

The two knights considered the younger for a moment before Leon nodded. "We'll see you later then."

Mordred watched the two leave before setting off to follow Merlin. He wouldn't exactly hard to find; the laundry basket he held meant he was most likely in the washing room in the west wing of the castle, closest to the training grounds as well as Arthur's chambers.

He was right. Merlin had his back to the doorway, focused wholy on his task.

"What is it, Mordred."

In response, Mordred flinched, not realizing  that Merlin had noticed him already. "Gwaine wants to go to the lake," he started, ignoring the fact that the plan was already bust. "He wanted to invite you."

Merlin didn't turn around, continuously scrubbing one of Arthur's shirts against a washboard. "There's a council meeting soon."

"Right..."

A silence prevailed, making Mordred shift anxiously on his feet. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, trying to relieve some of the itching from his sweating into the fabric.

"You're a knight, shouldn't you be getting ready?" Merlin's tone was more bitter than Mordred thought it had any right to be.

"Merlin," Mordred practically sighed. "How long is this going to last?"

Merlin turned, watching Mordred carefully, and if it weren't so damn hot, Mordred might have been bothered to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"How long should it?"

Mordred frowned at the answer. "I don't even know why it started in the first place.”

"Maybe something to do with Morgana," Merlin quipped. But Mordred knew that wasn't it. It started long before Morgana had any speck of evil in her.

They had played this little game of tensions since they met, though Mordred would have sworn that Merlin honestly cared for him when he first entered Camelot as a child. Something happened during their first encounter, and Mordred wasn't certain what it was, but it was enough to make Merlin fear a little boy. Sweet, kind, innocent Merlin whom the knights thought couldn't hurt a fly.

Sweet, kind, innocent Merlin who hated a little boy to the very core of his being.

And gods, wouldn't it just be easier to hate him back, to let everyone in Camelot know that Merlin and Mordred did not and would not get along. But Mordred was young, and confused, and more than anything in Camelot, he needed the comfort of magic. He needed Merlin to be okay with it, even if Merlin wasn't okay with him. He needed the reassurance that making a life next to the son of Uther was possible, even if it meant keeping a very key piece to his identity secret. He needed Merlin, even though Merlin didn't need him.

But he fantasized sometimes. Dreamt up improbable tales of Merlin finally accepting him, of them becoming friends, learning magic together, seeing Camelot lift the ban on magic side by side.

And sometimes he dreamt of the opposite. Of Merlin finally snapping, deciding that he didn't want to dance around words and secrets with Mordred anymore. Choosing to finish him off for good. Sometimes those dreams ended in gore, other times a painful victory. Either way, Mordred did not like to linger on those thoughts.

But the heat, it muddled his brain, stewed his anger, made him wish Merlin would try it, just to get it over with.

And now, here Merlin was, just staring at him with so many emotions warring on his face that Mordred thought for a good second that Merlin was considering it. And wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake, Merlin listening to him just this once and trying to knock his teeth out.

But he didn't. Mordred broke first.

"Bullshit! Why do you want me dead? What could I have possibly done to deserve it?" He was shouting, tossing his hands around in frustration as he spoke.

Merlin remained silent, only glancing around behind Mordred to ensure no one was coming up behind them.

"You know, I've tried to be good to you! I dropped that grudge from when you tried to get me killed all those years ago, told myself it was childish." He tugged a hand through his hair, pushing sweat from his forehead up into already disheveled locks. A choked laugh escaped him. "Guess those months of sorting myself straight were pointless. Doesn't matter what I actually am to you! You just--"

Mordred was interrupted by one of Arthur's sopping wet shirts landing on his face.

"You need to cool off a bit."

If Mordred thought he'd snapped before, he was sorely mistaken. He pulled the wet cloth off his face with a scowl. He was almost delighted to see Merlin's face shift to one of surprising as Mordred hurled the article back at his attacker.

The shirt plopped onto Merlin's gut with a wet slap, causing him to stumble. Before he recovered though, Mordred barrelled into him with a roar, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

They wrestled for a moment, Mordred grabbing and punching while Merlin scrambled to hold him back. Rolling about on the ground like a pair of angry cats, the struggle continued for only a few seconds before Merlin unceremoniously shoved Arthur's shirt into Mordred's face once more.

Were he not the victim of it, Mordred most likely would have laughed at the situation. But a wet bundle of cloth covering your eyes and blocking your airways is a little more serious in person. Merlin had him pinned.

All too suddenly, his rage vanished, and Mordred felt it replaced by a wave of panic. He kicked out against the floor, twisting on the ground where Merlin sat atop his abdomen, Mordred clutching at the warlock's wrists.

So was that it? Not even some grand battle of magics? Just suffocated in one of his king's dirty shirts? What a way to go.

A panicked sound escaped him as he twisted, and he suddenly felt the shirt being pulled away. It was quickly followed by a cascade of soapy water.

The bucket Merlin had been washing Arthur's clothes in clattered against the ground as Mordred struggled to sit up, rubbing the water from his eyes.

"Hey Merlin, Arthur-- Whoa." Both sorcerers jolted their heads over towards the doorway to see Elyan, looking properly confused. "Too hot to handle..?" he questioned hesitantly.

Merlin recovered faster than Mordred, as he was ought to do. He grabbed Arthur's shirt and plopped it in the fallen bucket, collecting other pieces of laundry which had tumbled down with it.

"Something like that," he said far too calmly. He grinned lightly, standing a pulling the bucket back onto the counter. "Tell Gwaine I found him a lake."

Elyan raised an eyebrow, not yet aware of the context. "Tell him yourself. Arthur wants you at the meeting, too."

Mordred's hands hovered by his face, now significantly less soapy, as he listened to Merlin and Elyan's discussion. It was far too normal after what just happened. It was something Merlin had done before.

"A little more warning would've been nice," Merlin grumbled, shaking one hand free of water droplets to prove his point.

Elyan chuckled. "You know Arthur."

"Unfortunately."

Mordred stopped listening, rubbing his eyes once more. It was no longer soapy water leaking out if them. He registered when Elyan left, but made to moves of his own, paralyzed. His breath was steadily growing more ragged, and Mordred found himself curling forwards.

"Mordred," came the quiet call of Merlin. To Mordred's rattled brain, it sounded like a warning.

Who could blame him for thinking that? He had almost been killed. Or maybe not, he had no idea if Merlin would have actually kept the cloth to his face that long. But the panic was real, as was the fear. Whatever caused the bucket to fall, be it magic or Merlin or luck, he was grateful it did.

Just thinking about it sent the tears flowing. Screwing his fists into his eyes, Mordred coughed out a sob. He tried to keep it in, choking on his breaths and hiccuping through the tears. Knights didn't cry, not after something as stupid as this. Knights were strong and powerful and gods wasn't he the perfect example of one? Sobbing on the floor, soaking wet and curled up into a ball like a child.

"...Mordred..?"

Merlin sounded shocked, and Mordred almost thought it justified. At the same time though, his mind screamed,  _ What did you think would happen, idiot? _

As he felt a hand fall lightly on his back, Mordred held his breath, though his heaving lungs protested. Neither moved, and the knight was forced to release his breath with a stuttering sob. And then he couldn't stop it.

Each gasp for breath only lead to another heaving sob, his fists slipping from his eyes as they were overwhelmed by tears. His head was hot, and Mordred couldn't think coherently enough to process why he needed to cry, so he just did. He was sweaty, wet, and covered in a sticky soap that contributed to his discomfort immensely, and now he was being comforted by the cause of his tears.

And to his credit, Merlin stayed there, crouched next to the fallen knight in silence. It mustn't have been comfortable, Mordred acknowledged, but he was beyond the point of caring about Merlin's comfort. Mordred simply focused on calming himself, ignoring the itching feeling in his gut that made him want to shove Merlin away.

Once he could breathe without sobbing, Merlin retracted his arm. With his hands still blocking his eyes, he couldn't see it, but Mordred was aware that Merlin had stood.

"I'll tell them you aren't feeling well."

Gee, thanks, Merlin. Why don't you tell them why that is while you're at it?

The only response Mordred gave was a sniff, and Merlin's footsteps were soon echoing down the hallway.

Left alone, Mordred felt more able to compose himself. He pulled his head from his hands, gazing at the empty doorway with moist eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling the wet locks off of his forehead. That confrontation had gotten him nowhere good.

A stuttering breath left him as he stood, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he really should have. Now that Merlin was covering for him, for lack of a better word, he might as well take advantage of the time to compose himself. He would go back to his chambers, have a bath, and take a nap.

He didn't end up taking that bath, and he only realized when a knock on his door woke him. He pulled his head up, wincing as the pillow peeled off of his cheek. He dreaded to think what his hair looked like with all the dried soap the covered his head.

"Mordred?" The call of Arthur from the other side of the door came not a second before the king entered. He approached the groggy youngster, raising a hand when he tried to sit up. "No, stay down," Arthur said amiably. "Merlin wasn't lying about you not being well. You look awful."

So, yes, the soap had done a number on Mordred's hair. Not to mention the probably obvious reddening of his face and eyes from his little breakdown. He closed his eyes briefly, sighing at the reminder.

"How are you feeling?” Arthur queried.

In all the ways that counted? He felt awful. Lonely, scared, angry, and so, so tired. But to Arthur, he was "Fine."

Arthur snorted. "You look it," came the sarcastic response. "Do you want me to send Gaius up?"

Mordred shook his head into the pillow. "Merlin gave me something already," he lied. "Just need to sleep it off."

"Right. I'll leave you to it." Arthur cast a fond smile down at Mordred and patted him on the shoulder before leaving.

As the door shut, Mordred felt sick to his stomach. How could everything be so messed up? Merlin, Emrys, the foretold savior of magic and most powerful warlock, wanted him dead. He, who had magic yet served the king of Camelot. The two were both in the same boat, yet Merlin seemed much more inclined to throw him overboard than work together.

Merlin knew nothing of who Mordred really was. He had never tried to know. He was simply scared of something Mordred didn't understand, and that fear led into hate. Merlin knew of Mordred's magic and acted like that meant he knew everything.

He didn’t.

And on the other side of things, the knights and the king, the best friends he'd had since his days with the druids, they knew him so well. They trusted him and loved him, and he in turn did the same. But they didn't know about his magic. They didn't know about one of the most important influences in his life, the thing that made him who he was.

It was all so screwed up.

A distant rumble caught his attention, and Mordred looked to his window. Storm clouds were approaching, thunder on the horizon.

Huh. Old man Fillemore was right. The rain would combat the heat, and hopefully the next few days would be much cooler. The crops would be watered, the air would cool, and everyone would go back to a normal life, whatever normal meant.

Mordred found it hard to grasp the concept of the struggles against magic, the need to create system of hatred between two sides. He closed his eyes as drops of rain began to fall, pattering against his window.

Around the castle, everyone would be thinking the same thing. Knights, nobles, and servants alike, all thinking  _ Thank goodness it's finally here. _ He didn't doubt that the druids could see the clouds, that Morgana could hear the thunder.

After all, they all shared the same rain.

**Author's Note:**

> why cant i ever write anything happy lol
> 
> Really though I think this bit needs work, but if I try to make everything I write perfect, I'm never gonna finish anything


End file.
